Friends and Neighbors eBook

A slight sound from the apartment adjoining the parlour
attracted my attention. Had Lily stopped there
to read her letter instead of going to her chamber?
and had she, consequently, overheard our foolish remarks?
The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open.
There was a slight rustling, but I thought it only
the waving of the window curtain.

A half-hour passed away, and Lily had not returned
to us. I began to be alarmed, and my companions
partook of my fears. Had she overheard us? and,
if so, what must that sensitive heart be suffering?

I went out to call her; but half way up the flight
of stairs I saw the letter from her father lying on
the carpet, unopened, though it had been torn from
its envelope. I know not how I found my way up
stairs, but I stood by Lily’s bed.

Merciful Heaven! what a sight was presented to my
gaze. The white covering was stained with blood,
and from those cold, pale lips the red drops were
fast falling. Her eyes turned slowly till they
rested on mine. What a look was that! I
see it now; so full of grief; so full of reproach;
and then they closed. I thought her dead, and
my frantic shrieks called my companions to her bedside.
They aroused her, too, from that swoon, but they did
not awaken her to consciousness. She never more
turned a look of recognition on us, or seemed to be
aware that we were near her. Through all that
night, so long and so full of agony to us, she was
murmuring, incoherently, to herself,

“They did not know I was dying,” she would
say; “that I have been dying ever since I have
been here! They have not dreamed of my sufferings
through these long months; I could not tell them, for
I believed they loved me, and I would not grieve them.
But no one loves me—­not one in the wide
world cares for me! My mother, you will not have
forgotten your child when you meet me in the spirit-land!
Their loved tones made me deaf to the voice which was
calling to me from the grave, and the sunshine of his
smile broke through the dark cloud which death was
drawing around me. Oh, I would have lived, but
death, I thought, would lose half its bitterness,
could I breathe my last in their arms! But, now,
I must die alone! Oh, how shall I reach my home—­how
shall I ever reach my home?”

Dear Lily! The passage was short; when morning
dawned, she was there.

HOW TO BE HAPPY.

A BOON of inestimable worth is a calm, thankful heart—­a
treasure that few, very few, possess. We once
met an old man, whose face was a mixture of smiles
and sunshine. Wherever he went, he succeeded in
making everybody about him as pleasant as himself.

Said we, one day,—­for he was one of that
delightful class whom everybody feels privileged to
be related to,—­“Uncle, uncle, how
is it that you contrive to be so happy?
Why is your face so cheerful, when so many thousands
are craped over with a most uncomfortable gloominess?”